


lead me to salvation

by contradictory_existence



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Canon Era, M/M, Prose Poem
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-21
Updated: 2018-01-21
Packaged: 2019-03-07 10:54:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 370
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13433217
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/contradictory_existence/pseuds/contradictory_existence
Summary: Grantaire, in whom writhed doubt, loved to watch faith soar in Enjolras.





	lead me to salvation

i. boy of fire, with hair of flames and eyes of embers, an angel cast out of heaven hurtling towards the earth. a comet, a meteor, too bright to look at but he's caught like the needle of a compass to the north star. he supposes this is what icarus felt like, wings singed from drifting too close to the sun and flying on still, and grantaire's never understood physics but he knows there's no escape for him. up is down and down is up and the candles are stars and the wine is blood. he reaches out to take his hand as he falls, and his fingers slip through empty air. he falls after him.

ii. it's june and paris is smoldering. grantaire thinks about eyes that will never gleam golden in the summer solstice and takes solace in the wine dark sea of his bottle. he closes his eyes and sees sparks of byzantium purple and blooms of goldenrod painted behind his eyelids.  


iii. marble lover of liberty, a statue worthy of michelangelo; a man speaking in tongues, singing rousing revelations of revolution. under his gaze, astounding and terrible, grantaire is rendered incapable.  


iv. there's an angel without wings in the café but late at night a halo burns in his mind's eye. when he wakes in his rooms there's a single quill with a feather pale as alabaster lying among his brushes.  


v. furniture is falling and the barricade is falling and his friends are falling falling falling  


vi. as he wanders the labyrinth of parisian streets in search of fresh blood for the amis, he catches a glimpse of goliath buying a bouquet of white lilies in a flower shop.  


vii. the national guard is marching towards them and he wonders at how quickly history will write over their names, earth to ashes to dust. he writes his last letter in blood-red wine with an alabaster feather, seals it with candle wax. he prays for deliverance—for whom, he doesn't know, knows it will never be delivered but prays nonetheless. the national guard is marching towards the barricade and time marches on without them.  


viii. waking up  


ix.  


x. fingers lace together. they brace for impact.

**Author's Note:**

> tumblr: contradictory-existence


End file.
